


A Gun and A Radio

by SolarMorrigan



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Successful Flirting, failed flirting, mostly fluff really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-06-22 15:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15584976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: The advancement of Bond and Q's relationship, told through small things in small parts





	A Gun and A Radio

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Flash Fanwork February at the [MI6 Cafe](http://mi6-cafe.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Posted in eight parts, but stitched together here because posting eight >300 chapters is irritating
> 
> Warning for brief mentions of sexual activity; not much, but just in case
> 
> Originally posted here as part of a collection, which I've deleted; if you left kudos or a comment for this fic there, please know I've saved them to look upon and cherish (also, thank you)

**Gun**

“You do know how to shoot that thing, don’t you?”

Q looked over at Bond, startled from his inspection of the gun in his hands. “Excuse me?”

Bond hadn’t been expecting to be distracted from his own firearms practice by Q’s appearance at the range, but it was alright; Bond was nothing if not an opportunist. “The gun, Quartermaster.” Bond smirked, moving to the lane Q was occupying two down from his own, “I could certainly give you some pointers.”

Q blinked, glanced left and right, and looked back to Bond. “Is this really happening?”

“Of course.” Stepping up behind Q, Bond placed his hands lightly on Q’s shoulders, “I would be remiss if I didn’t make sure you were in perfect… position.”

Q snorted. “Remove your hands, Bond. I’m trying to shoot.”

Surprised (disappointed), and curious despite himself, Bond took his hands from where he’d been preparing to slide them down Q’s arms. Q rolled his shoulders and stepped away from Bond, muttering something that definitely involved ‘ _bloody agents_ ’ as he positioned himself perfectly at the mouth of the lane.

He shot through the entire clip in quick succession, lowering his weapon not in between shots to check his aim as Bond had seen some inexperienced agents do, but only when he was finished. There was a neat grouping of holes in the target at the end of the firing lane, and Bond was, again, surprised. It wasn’t double-0 level, but it was certainly on the higher end of most field agent scores.

Q looked back over his shoulder and smirked. “Pity,” He remarked, “You’ll just have to find another excuse to feel me up, now.”

Bond resisted a bark of laughter. He supposed he would.

-/-/-

**Radio**

Attempting to teach Q something he already knew was obviously not the way to go, but the spirit of the idea had some merit. Q was a little know-it-all, wasn’t he? If he didn’t want to be taught, there was still another avenue to travel.

“And this.” Q announced, presenting Bond with an elegant wristwatch, the last of Bond’s kit.

“Hmm.” Bond hummed over the watch, furrowing his brow as he strapped it onto his wrist.

He made a show of prodding at a few of the buttons along the side, managing to set the time incorrectly and turn on what he was certain was the distress signal while Q’s hands twitched towards him with irritable intent.

“007, what are you doing?” Q snapped, finally reaching up to still Bond’s hand.

“Oh, this is too complicated for me, I think.” Bond drawled, voice low with a purpose Q couldn’t miss, “You’ll just have to show me how it works.”

Q stared at Bond for a moment, baffled, before a light of understanding came to his eyes, followed quickly by some kind of sinister amusement. “Oh, dear.” Q intoned, “May I see the watch, 007?”

After a beat of hesitation, Bond unfastened the watch and handed it over. Q tsked. “I suppose I overestimated you, giving you a taser, detachable trackers, a self-destruct option… We’ll just have to find you something a bit simpler.” Bond watched in disbelief as Q locked the watch away in his desk and rummaged around in another drawer until he emerged with a familiar piece of tech, “Here we are: standard radio transmitter. Much more your speed.”

Bond accepted the radio with well-acted good grace, squashing the urge to start swearing at Q, who was smiling benignly at Bond.

“Marvelous. Do try to return that, would you please?”

“I make no promises.” Bond grunted, turning to leave Q branch.

“007,” Q called, and Bond paused but didn’t turn back, “Better luck next time.”

-/-/-

**Laptop**

“ _007, the exit is in the other direction._ ”

“And Mercier’s office is in this direction.”

“ _Well that’s fascinating, 007. Thank you for telling me_.” Bond was surprised Q didn’t choke on sarcasm that dry, “ _And yet Mercier’s office will not allow you to escape the compound before someone notices his corpse._ ”

“Just a quick detour, Q.” Bond insisted, smirking at Q’s nearly inaudible, aggravated huff.

It was more than just a quick detour in the end, of course it was, with Bond leading security on a merry chase around the compound and the trace of Q just ahead of him in digital locks and malfunctioning systems, but Bond was very (at least 90%) certain his risk would pay off.

-

“What, exactly, was so damned important that you had to put both yourself and your mission in jeopardy?” Q’s tone fell just short of demanding.

“This.” Bond allowed himself a smug grin as he deposited Mercier’s laptop on Q’s table, “He never connected it to the network, but it’s got all his experimental weapon designs.”

Bond could see Q’s eyes darken with avarice and, oh, if he’d known it was that easy, he’d have started divesting dead men of their tech long ago. The look was gone quickly, though, replaced with irritation. “That isn’t worth your life.”

Bond shrugged, reaching for the laptop. “Well I suppose I could just–”

“Oh, give me that.” Q snapped, snatching the computer up and shooting another glare when Bond dared to laugh.

-/-/-

**Pen**

Q sighed, less disappointed and more resigned. “Well you’re at least in one piece, even if you couldn’t be bothered to return any of my equipment. Well done on your mission, 007.”

“Always nice to know you care, Q.” Bond grinned.

“Yes.” Q cleared his throat, “Well…”

“But I did actually manage to bring back one piece of my kit, as it happens.” Bond continued over Q’s muted awkwardness.

Q blinked. “Did you really?”

Bond reached into his pocket and produced a fine, chrome-plated pen. Though the appearance wasn’t quite his style, the function most certainly was – at the press of a discrete button, the pen produced a laser powerful enough to cut through most any material, and had been a delightful surprise from the ever pragmatic quartermaster. “I did consider keeping it for myself. It’s quite nice.” Bond admitted as he handed the pen over, “But I didn’t want to disappoint.”

“Well.” Q said again, staring at the pen for a moment in a way that wasn’t quite disbelief but wasn’t quite anything else, “Now that I know you’re capable of returning certain items, I may see fit to equip you with more… interesting things in the future.”

“I look forward to it.”

Q smirked. “I’m sure you do.”

-/-/-

**Tea**

Q looked up as Bond placed a mug on his desk, just beyond his elbow. Looking from the steaming mug and up to Bond, Q tilted his head curiously. “Do you always put this much effort into your conquests?”

The question, oddly, gave Bond pause. Did he?

Did the thought of a good shag generally start to slip his mind when the potential conquest smiled at him? Did he want to earn approval from his conquests? Did he bring them thoughtful gifts meant to do more than just dazzle? Did he enjoy spending time with conquests, outside of dinner and drinks and bed?

In the moments Bond took to answer, Q took a sip of his tea and blinked down at the cup in surprise.

Did Bond always learn exactly how his conquests liked their tea?

“No,” Bond finally replied, “I don’t.”

Still clutching the mug, Q watched Bond with something like surprise in his expression, before it slid and shifted and could be called nothing but fond. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

Bond smiled. “You know, I really would.”

-/-/-

**Martini**

Though Q didn’t  _need_  to be impressed, it didn’t stop Bond from going just a little above expectations.

“This place is still entirely too stuffy,” Q mused after taking another sip from his drink, “But they do make a good old fashioned.”

“You can’t complain about things being stuffy when you’re drinking that.” Bond shook his head, though he was smiling.

Q grinned. “But it comes with so many possibilities.”

The orange wheel had already been ungracefully eaten down to the rind, but the cherry still remained, and Q popped it into his mouth, chewed, then took in the stem. Bond watched with mounting awe as Q delicately spat the stem out moments later, perfectly knotted.

“Never took you as one for party tricks.” Bond finally said, Q still smiling smugly across at him.

“Well, some of them do have their uses.” Q admitted, “And you’re one to talk about stuffy, with your dry martini,  _shaken not stirred_.”

“Sometimes, Q, you can’t beat a classic.” Bond took up his glass and set it beside Q’s, the invitation clear.

Q eyed the martini for a moment before giving in with a rolling shrug and taking a sip. Bond watched the line of his throat as he swallowed, openly and lasciviously, and Q smirked when he caught on. “Classics do have their place, I suppose. But there’s always room for something new.”

Bond hummed thoughtfully. “So there is.”

-/-/-

**Suit**

The cherry stem was a promise fully delivered on.

Bond was loath to move from Q’s slick, talented mouth, but he managed it with the intent of lavishing attention upon the rest of Q’s person. He pressed a series of messy, open-mouthed kisses to the sharp line of Q’s jaw that devolved into the blunt scrape of teeth down his neck and right to the edge of his collar.

“Seems almost a shame to take all this off,” Bond murmured into Q’s neck, even as he tugged at the tie hanging around it, “I did enjoy seeing you so cleaned up.”

“You’re not fucking me in the suit.” Q huffed, reaching up with unsteady hands to yank his tie free.

“No?” Bond questioned; it seemed a token protest, as he was already parting the buttons of Q’s shirt in short order.

“No.” Q shook his head, stilling Bond at the bottommost buttons and pressing until Bond’s hand was sliding in past his shirt and over the bare skin of his chest, “I want to feel you on me. In me. Every inch of you. No suit.”

Bond pushed in close again, his thumb rubbing over a nipple and his lips brushing once more over Q’s. “Fuck the suit.” He breathed.

“No,” Q smirked, “Fuck  _me.”_

-/-/-

**Cardigan**

Bond found Q staring down the kettle in nothing but a shapeless cardigan and his pants. “Back to jumpers already?” Bond wrapped around Q from behind and wondered briefly if his lack of reaction was because he was too used to the antics of agents or because he wasn’t quite awake, “Pity.”

Q muttered something vaguely surly and continued to squint at the kettle.

Not yet ready to give up the slow morning and the feeling of warm skin beneath his hands, Bond leaned in and nipped at the spot just behind Q’s ear, tweaking the dark bruise he’d left there the previous evening. Q shivered and pressed further back into Bond, whether out of pleasure or an ineffectual effort to push back, Bond didn’t quite care. “Can I convince you to abandon the cardigan if I bring you your tea in bed?”

“If we go back to bed, tea will be the last thing on your mind.” Q scoffed, not without affection.

“On the contrary; I can be very goal-oriented.” Bond insisted as one if his palms smoothed down to Q’s hip, “I can promise that there will eventually be tea.”

“Eventually?”

Bond hummed in agreement. “At some point.”

“Oh, alright.” Q heaved a put-upon sigh, though there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips from where Bond could see, “I accept your terms.”

With a quick wriggle and twist, Q broke from Bond’s arms and shed the cardigan as he went, heading back towards the bedroom with a sleepily imperious command for Bond to  _come along, already_.

And with a grin, Bond did just that.

**Author's Note:**

> [Here's the first part on Tumblr!](http://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/post/171369081188/gun) The rest are linked through


End file.
